


Past Issues

by 16woodsequ



Series: On Having Wings [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Abuse, BSL, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Harry (Sherlock), Sherlock is confused, Sign Language, Winglock, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 06:01:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14731304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/16woodsequ/pseuds/16woodsequ
Summary: Sherlock isn't confused when he's held at gunpoint in his flat, what does confuse him is what the men are here for; John.





	Past Issues

**Author's Note:**

> Set after Hounds of Baskerville, before The Reichenbach Fall

It was a normal day at Baker Street.  
  
John was out shopping (they'd run out of milk and jam,  _again_ ), Mrs. Hudson was hoovering in her living room, and Sherlock was being held at gunpoint.  
  
The usual.  
  
Except, Sherlock couldn't place his assailants. Usually they fell into two categories, henchmen from scheming madmen or Mycroft. These ones were different.  
For example, they had yet to make any demands, in fact, they had barely spoken to Sherlock. They'd acknowledged him to the point of handcuffing his hands behind his back and directing him to his chair, but besides leaving a gunman to keep an eye on him, the men had mostly ignored him.  
Instead, on a gruff order from the man behind the gun, the four other assailants had begun to search the flat.  
  
At first Sherlock had considered the idea that Mycroft was staging one of his impromptu drug bust, but the men didn't move like the usual goons his brother employed. They had the look of highly skilled professionals and moved with a militaristic, almost brutal approach.  
To top it off, they had neither the style nor the showmanship that regular run-of-the-mill crime lords seemed to favour.  
As far as Sherlock could tell, the men were well and truly doing a thorough sweep of his flat, for reasons they had yet to disclose.    
  
Seemingly finished, each of the four men returned, giving subtle shakes of their heads as they reentered the room.  
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. They'd been looking for something, and they hadn't found it.  
  
Just as Sherlock was beginning to calculate his odds of being able to contact Lestrade, a door was heard closing from downstairs.  
Sherlock stifled a grin. John had returned from his shopping trip, and while Sherlock didn't necessarily relish the idea of his flatmate walking into danger, the odds of either of them getting out of this without getting shot rose significantly once John arrived. John's military experience was invaluable in situations like these, and the soldier had a better chance at calling for backup than Sherlock did at the moment.  
The other men in the room heard the door too and immediately readied themselves, causing Sherlock to worry briefly that they would simply shoot John the moment he walked in.  
  
What happened instead was much worse.  
  
The instant John appeared in the doorway, the man holding the gun on Sherlock smiled.  
  
"Hello John."

 

 

 

 

oOo

 

 

 

 

Sherlock had been counting on John's previous military experience to be a possible factor in their escape. He could see now that that wasn't going to be an option.

John paled the minute he entered the room and seemed to freeze on the spot. He seemed to barely be breathing and the bag of shopping fell from his hands and spilled onto the floor.   
Sherlock's gunman, who he had privately dubbed 'henchleader', smiled wider at John's reaction, waving at one of the lower henchmen to takeover guarding Sherlock before making his way to where John stood in the doorway.   
"It is  _John_  right?" He inquired lazily, idly gesturing with his handgun.  
John nodded jerkily, the whole time watching the henchleader's hands.

Sherlock meanwhile was revising his whole view of the situation. He'd thought with how professional the henchmen had been acting that he and John would be relatively safe from unnecessary harm. But with how John was acting, he was beginning to suspect that there were different stakes at play, and he wasn't sure what they were.  
The leader henchmen had reached John by then and leaned in close like some kind of predator.  
"I have to congratulate you." He purred as John shifted microscopically in the other direction. "It took us quite a while to find you."

 _Okay._ Sherlock reasoned.  _This obviously has do do with John and judging from the militaristic form of the group...people from John's military past? But why? I've seen his records, he had an honorable discharge...something else then?  
_ Sherlock's inner musings were cut off when John opened his mouth, seemingly in response to the henchleader's goading.

     _Smack!_   

Sherlock hadn't even seen the man's hand move, but John was reeling and the sound of the slap echoed around the room.  
The henchleader shook his hand slightly and glared disapprovingly at John.  
"It seems you've forgotten some rules while you were away." He remarked disdainfully.  
John let out a shaky breath and seemed unable to look at the man in front of him.  
The man scowled and twitched he gun hand. "How did you get away anyways?" He sneered. "You couldn't have done it yourself. Is  _he_ part of it?"  
At this the henchleader casually flicked his gun up towards Sherlock, never once taking his eyes off John. 

John's eyes widened and he became the most animated he'd been since entering the room, his left hand came up and his first two fingers pinched together with his thumb while he simultaneously shook his head and mouthed the word 'no' emphatically.  
The man tilted his head and lowered his gun slightly. John didn't relax.  
"Does he even know?"  
John looked over hesitantly at Sherlock before making the same gesture again.

The henchleader grinned and barked out a laugh. "I see how it is." He jeered. "You wanted to be  _normal._ To live a quiet little life buying-" he looked down at John's feet, "- _jam_."  
At this the henchman surged forward and grabbed the front of John's jumper, dragging him forward.   
"Well you're NOT normal you little  _freak_  and you were deluding yourself if you thought you could escape us for long."

John flinched at the sudden movement and his eyes briefly met Sherlock's at the utterance of the loaded insult.

"Oh."  
The henchleader released John's shirt and stepped back. "Oh I  _see_."  
Sherlock was beginning to hate the man's smile.  
"You thought you could..." The man trailed off before walking over to Sherlock.  
"Did you make a  _friend_?" He sneered, running his hand through Sherlock's curls before jerking on them, his eyes locked on John's.

The henchleader stepped away and Sherlock's stomach dropped when the gun was once again cocked in his direction.  
"Show him." The man deadpanned. "Show your  _friend_  exactly what you are."

John looked agonized and Sherlock was beginning to wish he'd allowed Mycroft to install as least one camera in his flat, because it didn't look like they were getting out of this (what ever it was) any time soon.

Sherlock's lament over flat security was cut off by John as he slowly removed his jumper, revealing the button-down he wore underneath.  
The man was nervous, his hands shaking infinitesimally and he didn't look at Sherlock as he dropped the garment on the floor before fumbling with the buttons on his sleeve cuffs.

Sherlock's brain stalled.  
Of all the things he'd been prepared for, this was not it. To be honest he still wasn't sure what to expect, and a small part of him was even curious.

Throughout John's stay with Sherlock, the one thing Sherlock had  _never_  been able to convince his flatmate to do was show him his scar.  
Sherlock knew that, because of John's injury, the man must have a large amount of  _interesting_  scarring. But the soldier had refused to show him and was surprisingly vigilant about keeping himself covered.  
While Sherlock was content to wander around the flat in nothing but a sheet, John never left his room without being fully clothed. He never walked around in a dressing gown (didn't seem to own one as far as Sherlock could tell) and kept the door locked while showering. (Sherlock had tried picking the lock once and found the door barred from the inside with, what he later learned to be, the open drawer of the sink vanity).

Along with all that, John was even worse than Sherlock when it came to medical attention. He flat out refused to be seen by any of the emergency crews at the end of their cases, claiming he would take care of himself (all while insisting Sherlock get a complete once-over).  
The one time Sherlock had tried to check on John he'd found the door to his room locked and, and upon threatening to let himself in anyways, Sherlock had heard the distinct sound of a dresser being pushed in front of the door.

As a result, despite his best efforts, Sherlock had never seen John in any way but fully clothed, so despite (and maybe because) of the dire situation, Sherlock couldn't help but be curious as to why his flat mate was so modest.

...Except, John was clearly uncomfortable, and the henchleader was obviously malicious in his intent, leaving Sherlock to quietly dread what he might see.

"Wait."

Sherlock twitched when the henchleader abruptly stepped forward to stare at John, who had by then removed his shirt, revealing what seemed to be a brace strapped over his chest.  
The henchleader circled John, seeming almost meditative.  
"I was wondering how you hid those things." He mused, before stepping back and indicating for John to continued undressing.

Sherlock watched in a kind of morbid fascination as John undid the straps of the brace, two on the left side and one over the right shoulder, before peeling the brace off and letting it fall to the ground.

The room seemed to still as John flexed his shoulders, slowly unfolding a pair of reddish brown, feathery, wings.

They were ruffled and kinked in the places where the brace had been holding them down, and John held them low to the ground, seemingly ashamed of their presence, but they were wings nonetheless.

Sherlock gaped and his mind raced as he tried to remember if he'd had any indication of John's...extra appendages beforehand.   
Was there ever feathers in the wash? The shower? What kind of bird wings were they? Could John fly? How much did he weigh?   
Sherlock found himself reviewing everything John had ever eaten and his hands twitched. He wanted to go over and figure out how the wings attached, what kind of bone structure did he have? What muscle structure?  _How did he get like that?_

Meanwhile, the rest of Sherlock's observations caught up with him and he froze.

John's core was littered with dozens of scars, from small abrasions to- from what he could tell -cigarette burns. He was also distinctly lacking in any kid of gunshot wound.  
Sherlock was suddenly very aware that he did not know as much as he thought he did about his flatmate.

"There now," the henchleader chided cruelly. "Everything's out in the open."  
The henchleader shot John a superior look and, if Sherlock didn't currently have a gun to his head, he would have wiped that smug look of the man's face in an instant.  
As it was he had to watch while the man taunted John, who was standing dejectedly, refusing to look up from the floor. 

"Cuff him." The man ordered and John's eyes grew wide.  
Two other henchmen, who'd previously been standing idly, approached John and he flinched away looking around wildly. 

In the brief scuffle that followed, John thrashed and kicked, letting out a horrible muffled scream that Sherlock hoped he'd never have to hear again, before the men managed to wrestle the terrified man to the ground.  
One of the henchmen was able to pin John, jabbing his knee in between the junction of his wings and twisting his left arm up into the air while the other man quickly pinned John's legs to the ground.

Once John was sufficiently subdued, the henchleader approached, pulling an electronic cuff from the pocket of his uniform. Upon seeing the device John's breathing accelerated frantically and his left arm jerked.  
"Don't struggle  _John_. It's much worse if you do." The man cautioned as he fastened the cuff onto the exposed wrist.  
John whimpered when he felt the cold metal of the cuff before practically going limp the instant it was attached.

Sherlock gritted his teeth and silently cursed the henchman who had remained vigilant in keeping a gun to his head.

The henchleader stepped back, and with him the two other men, but John stayed on the ground breathing heavily.  
"I'm guessing you remember this then." The leader grinned, pulling what seemed to be a small remote from his pocket. "Should we demonstrate?"

Not waiting for an answer the man glanced tauntingly in Sherlock's direction before pressing a small button on the remote.  
John tensed instantly and twitched slightly, his breath hitching.  
The henchleader had a hard glint in his eye when he released the button and John relaxed, breathing roughly through his teeth.

"It's similar to a dog collar," The man explained, looking at Sherlock. "Any misbehavior and well-" he pressed the button again "-let's just say they learn rather quickly."  
Sherlock seethed as the henchleader approached him. "He knows other tricks too." The man smirked, leaning in. "I'd show them to you but," he stood up, "I'm afraid we must get going." He turned back to John. "We have an appointment to keep."

John made as if to push himself off the ground but froze when the henchleader's thumb hovered over the button on the remote.  
"It really is too bad  _John_." The henchleader jeered. "If you'd left this nice man alone, he wouldn't have to die."

Shrugging the henchleader clipped the remote to his belt. "Oh well, Morrison you deal with-"

But Sherlock never learned what Morrison had to deal with. Because the moment the henchleader had implied Sherlock's death, something in John had shifted and he seemed to still, narrowing his eyes before abruptly  _launching_  himself across the room, straight at Sherlock's gunman, knocking over one of the other henchmen and catching everyone off guard in the process.

Chaos erupted as all five men shouted and waved their guns, trying to get a mark on John, who'd wrestled the one henchman onto the ground.  
"Don't hit his wings! Don't hit his wings!" The henchleader barked, his eyes flashing.

Taking advantage of the pandemonium, Sherlock threw himself off his chair onto the ground, before trying to inchworm his way to some sort of shelter.

     _Bang!_

A shot rang out and Sherlock's breath hitched before he redoubled his efforts to hide behind his chair, from his position on the floor he saw John rise, wielding the pistol from the presumably dead henchman under him.  
John looked deadly.   
Gone was the terrified man from before, instead he stood tall and calculating, his wings spreading before he launched himself once more across the room.  
His wings must have given him leverage because he seemed to glide like some sort of bird of prey and the remaining men ducked, trying to avoid being hit. The henchleader looking murderous, his mouth open in a snarl.

     _Bang!_

John whirled to the side and one of the men fell with a neat wound in his forehead.

     _Bang!_

Another one.

John growled as he whipped around, his wing smacking a henchman who'd been attempting sneak up from behind, causing the assailant to stumble back with a shout.

Sherlock watched as in slow motion as the henchleader narrowed his eyes, snatching the remote from his belt-

     _Bang!_

The fourth henchmen collapsed and John gasped in pain.  
Falling to one knee, he clutched his left arm and the henchleader looked almost savage as he stepped closer, breathing heavily and pressing the remote button rhythmically.  
"You despicable  _beast_." He ground out. "How dare you-"  
"HEY!" Sherlock shouted, startling the looming man, and in the split second he was distracted, John brought up his gun and fired.

     _Bang!_  
  
The man fell and John and Sherlock sat frozen in shock, panting, the sudden silence deafening.

Sherlock sat stunned in his curled position, half behind his chair, and John's breathing became faster as he began to subtly rock back and forth.  
John's breath stuttered and he abruptly dropped the weapon in his hand before fumbling for his trouser's pocket. Breathing hard he pulled out his phone and frantically typed in a number.  
The ringing became audible as John pressed the speaker button with a shaking finger before dropping the device on the floor and curling up in the fetal position.  
The phone rang twice before it was answered and a female's voice was heard.  
_"Hello?"_

Confused Sherlock stared at the small device. He'd thought that John would have called Lestrade, or maybe even Mycroft, instead John had opted for this stranger.

 _"Hello?"_ The lady's voice came again.  _"John?"  
_ John didn't respond, remaining curled up on the floor.

"Boys?" A voice called up the stairs. "Are you two okay up there?"  
Sherlock panicked. As nice as their landlady was, Sherlock didn't think John wanted her seeing him like this.  
"We're fine Mrs. Hudson!" He shouted from the floor.

 _"Hello?"_  Came the voice from the phone.  _"Sherlock?"_  
"Um, yes hello." Sherlock responded awkwardly. Whoever the woman was, she knew him.  
_"Is everything alright? Where's John?"_ The voice questioned.  
"Ah," Sherlock wasn't sure how to respond. "He's here," He answered. "Sorry, who are you?"  
_"Harry."_ The voice answered back.  _"Did something happen?"_

Sherlock remained silent, trying to figure out how to respond. Harry? That was John's sister right? Wait, were they even real siblings? Did she know about the wings? Did she  _have_ wings? Was it hereditary?

 _"Sherlock?"_  Right.

"Harry, do you know...about John's..."  
_"...did something happen with his wings?"_  
"Yes." Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. "These men came-"  
_"Bugger."_ Harry hissed.  _"Is John okay?"_  
Sherlock looked over at John who had yet to move. "...I'm guessing not. He fought them off but...he hasn't moved since he called you."  
_"Okay,"_ Sherlock heard typing from Harry's side of the call.  _"I'm sending a friend over, he'll be there in half and hour. I can be there by tomorrow..."_ The typing stopped.  _"How many men? Did any escape? Are either of you seriously hurt?"_

"Five came into the flat," Sherlock responded, shifting from his cramped position on the floor. "John shot them all, and neither of us got injured from what I can tell."  
_"He shot them?"_ Harry sounded surprised.  _"Good job John."_  
John remained motionless.  
_"Okay. John? Bill is coming in half an hour. You'll be okay. I'll be staying on the phone alright?"_

John didn't move and for the rest of the thirty minutes Harry chatted lightly, in a solely one-sided conversation, with her brother while Sherlock worked on pulling himself off the floor. It was harder than it looked trying to navigate with one's hands cuffed behind their back. 

At last Sherlock heard the door to the building open and close, along with a brief muffled conversation between the newcomer and Mrs. Hudson.   
The newcomer's steps on the stairs were rather quiet and when the man appeared in the doorway Sherlock saw that he had removed his shoes and was carrying them.  
The man, Bill Sherlock assumed, glanced at Sherlock, who was by then leaning against his chair, before focusing on John and gently setting his shoes on the ground next to the forgotten shopping.

"Hey John." The man murmured, crouching a distance away.  
_"Bill?"_ Came Harry's voice over the phone.  
"Yeah I'm here."  
_"How is he?"_

Bill furrowed his eyebrows as he scanned John's prone form.  
"I can't tell if he's injured," he glanced at Sherlock who shrugged the best he could. "He's awake but unresponsive. Looks like he's regressed pretty far."  
Bill shuffled closer, "His wings are completely exposed and he seems pretty out of it-" The man's face darkened. "They managed to get a cuff on him."

 _"Sh-shoot."_ Harry growled, and Sherlock got the distinct impression she was holding back some stronger language.  _"See if you can get it off."_ She continued.  _"Anything else?"_  
"We'll have to deal with the bodies..." Bill mused looking around. "And figure out how They found him in the first place."  
_"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."_ Harry said decisively.  _"Try and cover the bodies at least. And plug in this phone, I don't want it dying on me."  
_ "Will do." Bill replied, glancing around the room and catching Sherlock's eye.

"How are you holding up?" He questioned gently.  
Sherlock shifted, trying to get into a more comfortable position. "Can you unpick handcuffs?"  
Bill smiled. "Sure." He answered. "Can you get up? It would be better if we stayed in his peripheral." He explained, gesturing at John.

While Sherlock was occupied trying to push himself off the floor, Bill busied himself finding a blanket to drape over John, all the while murmuring comforting phrases to the seemingly catatonic man.  
Panting slightly, Sherlock sat on John's chair, near where John was laying.

 _"Sherlock?"_ Harry spoke up.  
"Yeah?" Sherlock huffed as Bill approached with a set of lock picks.  
_"You probably have a few questions, and we'll answer them the best we can later,"_ Harry rattled off, business-like.  _"But for now we're going to have to lay down some rules."_ Harry explained  
"Right." Sherlock replied, shifting so that Bill had a better angle on his cuffs.  
_"Okay, for starters,"_ Harry began,  _"try not to touch John without his consent or at least warning him. Also, avoid loud noises, yelling, swearing, explosions-"_  
"Shoes on stairs..." Sherlock realized.  
_"Yes."_ Harry confirmed.  _"People walking around in shoes or boots can be an issue."_ Bill stepped away from Sherlock holding his cuffs and he sighed in relief, his arms and hands had been becoming disturbingly numb.  
_"Another things is cigarettes."_ Harry continued.  _"He can get agitated when he sees or smells them. Same goes for alcohol. Also corpses."_

Sherlock nodded as he massaged his limbs, sliding down so that he was sitting at the foot of John's chair, all the while filing away Harry's rules into a drawer marked 'IMPORTANT' in his mind palace.  
_"He likes your violin music,"_ Harry mentioned as Bill began to move about the room, covering the bodies of the henchmen.  _"So feel free to try that if he gets bad."_

Where's the charging cord?" Bill asked suddenly.  
"If it's not on the coffee table it's in his room." Sherlock rattled off, flexing his fingers.  
"Okay, I'll be right back John." Bill assured before leaving in the direction of John's room.

 _"John's in a bad way right now,"_ Harry said, bringing Sherlock's attention back to her.  _"But he might be aware of us on a subconscious level so make sure you explain stuff to him, even if he doesn't respond."_  
"Right." Sherlock replied.  
_"I'm going to have to hang up soon,"_ Harry muttered, the sound of more typing coming across the phone connection.  _"I need to make sure John is safe. Bill will stay and help out till I get there tomorrow."_

"So I didn't need this cord then?" Bill tease, returning from upstairs with the charging device.  
_"Bah, plug it in anyways, just in case I have to call back."_ Harry huffed.  
Bill chuckled and did so, being careful to move slowly as he neared John.

Sherlock had a sudden thought and spoke up before Harry could hang up. "My brother could help out with the bodies."  
_"Mycroft right?"_  Harry questioned, sounding reluctant.  _"...he's probably going to find out about John's wings now anyways..."  
_ Harry sighed, obviously conflicted.  _"It's probably the best course of action."_ She decided.  _"Call him, but try not to let him know about John's wings yet. I'll talk to him before we do that."_

"Right." Bill nodded, answering before Sherlock could open his mouth. "We'll bring the bodies to the back door, he can have someone pick them up there."  
_"Good idea."_ Harry agreed.  _"I have to go now and try and sort through this mess."_  
"Good luck." Bill said, signing off.  
_"Bye. I'll be there tomorrow John."_ Harry replied before hanging up.

"Okay," Bill stated, turning off the phone and looking at Sherlock. "I'm going to try and get that cuff off of John. Hopefully that will help him calm down."

Sherlock fidgeted as he glanced at the offending device. "...It gave electric shocks, didn't it." He said quietly.  
Bill scowled. "Yes."  
He pulled the lock picks out of his pocket again. "That's how he got the tremor in his left hand...partly psychosomatic, partly nerve damage."  
Sherlock's stomach clenched and he felt sick.

"John?" Bill inched closer. "I'm going to take off your cuff okay? I need your hand." Bill's hand drifted closer to John's and he tapped the floor twice. "I'm going to take your hand now."  
John flinched at the contact but didn't make a sound as Bill gently eased John's left hand away from the rest of his body.  
"Good job John." Bill praised. "I'm just going to take this off, it'll just be a second."

Sherlock watched fascinated as Bill worked his picks around in the locking mechanism of John's cuff.

"Seems like the same model as last time." Bill mused. "Looks like they don't learn, do they John?"  
With a soft click the cuff came off and John snatched his hand back. Bill smiled softly. "See? You're okay." He murmured affectionately, sitting back.  
John didn't reply, but he did move, shifting so that his wing was now draped over his body, covering himself.  
Bill leaned forward and tugged the blanket so that it was no longer tangled with John's wing, causing John's breathing to hitch.  
Bill froze. "It's okay," he assured and tapped twice on the ground again. "It's all good John."

Bill sighed and leaned back before glancing at Sherlock. "I guess we haven't been introduced." He quirked at smile. "I'm Bill Murray." He reached over to shake Sherlock's hand.  
"Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock replied, accepting the handshake. "But I think you already knew that."  
Bill grinned. "Yeah, but it's good to meet you in person."

Sherlock shifted, rubbing at his sore wrists absentmindedly. "So," he started, hoping he wasn't entering into 'not good' territory. He was a little lost on the social cues of the situation.  
"I'm assuming you've got some questions." Bill reasoned.  
Encouraged Sherlock learned forward. "How do you know John?" He wondered. "You move like a soldier, so I'd say you met in the military...that is if John ever was in the military..." Just how much of what he'd assumed about John was actually true?

Bill nodded. "You're right." He stated. "I met John on a tour in Afghanistan, he was part of my unit." Bill explained, his eyes taking on a reminiscent gleam. 

"...his story starts much earlier though." Bill looked sadly over at John who seemed to be slowly falling asleep.

"It's a long story," Bill continued. "But from what I know, John was bred as some sort of experimental program." Bill's hand hovered over the crumpled feathers of John's wing before falling away. "He...wasn't treated very well." He whispered.

"I think he was, maybe 20? When he came to us." Bill swallowed and brought his hand back to his lap. "He acted like a skittish ghost."

Sherlock sat frozen, eyes wide as Bill continued relaying how he'd come to know John.

"They didn't even give him a proper name." The man muttered. "They called him J-8, because name of the scientist who made him started with a 'J' and because he was the eighth subject created."

"They wanted to test John's effectiveness as a military asset." Bill scowled.

They -the people who  _owned_  him- They wanted to see how he would integrate into a military unit and they chose ours."

Bill shifted on his crossed legs. "Before he came, we were all sworn to secrecy within an inch of our lives."

"When he arrived...of course we noticed his wings, but we weren't blind to his condition either." The man looked angry and he let out a tight breath. "He couldn't even talk." He growled. "He only used sign language, so of course we learned what we could to communicate."

Sherlock perked up. "It looked like he was signing to the man before." He put in.  
Bill nodded. "It seemed that he got punished if he spoke or made noise without permission." He explained. "The first time he laughed around us he looked so scared..." Bill swallowed.  
Because we were on missions, we were usually left alone by the people that 'owned' John, so he slowly became accustomed to us... he almost trusted us you know." Bill mused, looking almost happy. "He refused to choose a name, but he allowed us to call him 'J' instead of J-8."

Bill's face darkened and his hands clenched over his knee. "Every few months there would be these 'check ups' and those... those  _monsters_ would come and measure him and run tests or whatever." Bill looked sadly at John. "He was always a little subdued afterwards." 

John seemed to be fully asleep by then and Bill leaned closer and began to smooth out his rumpled feathers.  
"They sent two of their brutes with us once." Bill whispered. "By then the team was pretty attached to John and it was... agonizing having to sit back and watch how they treated him."  
Bill seemed to be almost in a trance as he worked his fingers through the mass of John's neglected wings.  
"They...they had a 'game' they would play." He breathed. "They would order him not to move and then they would- they would see how close they could get to him with lit cigarettes."

Sherlock's breath stuttered and he gagged. A part of him wanted to stop Bill's story, but he found himself unable to speak.

"He'd be too afraid to move," Bill continued. "So he'd just sit there and let them burn him." Bill's voice shook. "Can you imagine what you have to do to a person before they'd sit through something like that?"

"One time," Bill's hands brushed rhythmically over John's wing, "one of the guys couldn't take it and he sucker punched the creep." Bill cracked a smile. "Should've seen the guys face, he wasn't used to dealing with something that would fight back." 

Bill shifted closer to John to reach some farther feathers. "They tried to charge our guy, but we managed to get him off the hook..." Bill trailed off for a second and Sherlock waited impatiently for him to continue.  
"...that was when we really realized that we were going to have to do something for John." Bill said finally before pausing in his grooming, and reaching over to pull the previously discarded blanker onto John's legs.  
"Our tour was coming to an end." He explained, smoothing the blanket. "And we knew that They would try and take John back, and there was no way we were going to leave him with Them."

Bill relaxed, seemingly having gotten through the tough part of his story.   
"It was tricky, but one of the guys got a hold of Harry and she promised to take care of John, if we could get him out." Bill recounted as he resumed gently kneading the feathers of John's wing.  
"We had to do it in secret, because if anyone outside our unit caught wind of it...we probably wouldn't have made it home." Bill confessed.

"Anyway, the plan was to incapacitate John during an enemy engagement. We'd claim he'd died and Harry's group would collect him after we'd retreated." Bill paused to stare into space for a moment before continuing.  
"It worked better than we could have hoped." He reported. "On the day of the exchange, we engaged with some insurgents and one of our guys shot John in the leg."  
Bill pursed his lips. "We were careful about it and bandaged him the best we could before we got out of there... I'm sure he was confused though, about why we were leaving him." 

"Harry's group got to him in time and extracted him, and we told the science people that John had been shot down during the engagement... They were mad as hornets, but not because They cared about John," Bill scowled. "No, They were mad about all the wasted resources." 

Bill paused to take a breath before continuing. "...after I was discharge, I found Harry again. John was with her and her little rescue group." Bill smiled. "He was so excited to see me, and he looked so much better. It was amazing really, he wasn't talking yet, but he was signing like crazy and acting almost like a little kid."

Sherlock shifted forwards, uncrossing his legs before crossing them the other way. "So, if John was with Harry...why is he living with me?" He wondered.  
Bill leaned back from his ministrations on John's wings. "He wanted to." He said simply. "This was years later of course, but John had progressed amazingly well, and we'd always wanted him to be able to live independently if possible... we started small at first. We didn't want to overwhelm him."  
Bill smiled fondly. "It was a long process but eventually he got to to point where he wanted to try living with someone who didn't know about his past."

"We made him that brace you know." Bill commented. "So that he could go out into society. It's not meant to be worn for longer than 8 hours or so..." Bill gestured at John's plumage. "...looks like he's fudged that rule a bit."  
"That's probably my fault." Sherlock confessed, feeling slightly guilty. "There's no telling when we'll be out on a case and John probably didn't want to risk me finding out."

Bill nodded in agreement. "True, but he likes living with you, and I think it's good for him." Bill grinned lightly. "Mike came in one day saying he knew the perfect flatmate..." Bill paused seeing the confusion on Sherlock's face. "He's the one that introduced you two." He elaborated.  
"Right." Sherlock agreed. "Although I'm guessing he didn't know John from medical school."  
"You'd be right." Bill nodded. "Mike's been with Harry's group since the beginning. John even stayed with him for a bit during his transitioning period." 

Sherlock was growing more and more curious about 'Harry's little group', as they seemed rather...sophisticated.  
"Anyways," Bill said continuing. "Harry was reluctant of course, she wasn't sure John was ready... that's actually why John had a blog in the first place." Bill informed him. "It was an easy way for Harry to keep an eye on him and for John to process his life."

Bill chuckled. "You should've seen her when she read about the -what was it- the Hounds of Baskerville? Yeah, that one. Harry was ready to go and tear you a new one."  
Sherlock paled. The Hound's case suddenly taking on a whole new light.  
Sherlock clenched his hands, knowing what he knew now, he was surprised John hadn't up and left, or shut down like he was now.  
"After a rather lengthy phone call, Harry was appeased." Bill assured. "You got off easy though, I believe Mike had to go into hiding for a few days when she first discovered what you did for a living." Bill grinned. "Harry can be over protective."

"I know the feeling." Sherlock muttered a tad bitterly.  
"Your brother right?" Bill guessed then looked around at the conspicuous bodies still in the room. "You should call him."

Sherlock grimaced at the thought but agreed.

After a rather tense phone call, where Sherlock insisted that he and John were  _fine_ , and that he would explain everything later, could Mycroft please just  _send some people to pick up some bodies_ , Sherlock found himself struggling to carry the weight of a full grown man down the narrow flight of stairs leading to his flat.

"You know," huffed Bill as they lugged the third body down the steps. "Harry nearly had a heart attack when she realized who your brother was."  
Sherlock made no comment as he concentrated on not dropping the shoulders of the dead henchman they were carrying.  
Shifting down a step Bill continued. "Literally the first day of knowing you and John was being kidnapped into black cars."  
Sherlock grunted as he descended the next step. "Yes well, my brother has always been dramatic."  
Bill laughed. "John thought it was one of the science creeps at first, but he told me that as soon as he realized Mycroft wasn't interested in him-" Bill moved down a step, "-everything became laughably overdone."

"Harry was more concerned than John." Bill explained once they'd deposited the last of the bodies near the back door. "She was worried that John's paperwork wouldn't hold up, but I'd say she did a bloody good job if it passed by someone like your brother."  
Sherlock grinned, imagining how frustrated his brother would be upon learning that he'd missed something this big about Sherlock's flatmate.

After warning Mrs. Hudson not to go near the back door for the rest of the day, Sherlock and Bill made their way back up to the flat before making themselves comfortable.  
Sherlock had just finished retrieving John's shopping from the floor, (the jam jar was cracked and the milk was a little warm but they both seemed fine to him) and was sitting in his chair while Bill busied himself trying to fit a pillow under John's head. The man flinched in his sleep but settled down once Bill gently tapped the floor twice. 

"What's that?" Sherlock questioned, copying the tapping on his knee.  
Standing up, Bill dusted off his trousers before making his way over to the couch. "It's a signal." He explained, sitting down. "Two taps means safe. Sometimes the signal works better than words when John's in a state."

Sherlock nodded and was prepared to enter into his mind palace in order to catalog all of today's revelations when he was distracted by Bill, who shifted almost uncomfortably on the couch.  
"So John's probably going to be traumatized for a while." The man cautioned awkwardly. "You're probably going to have to be careful around him, that is, if you want him to stay-"  
"Of course." Sherlock cut in firmly, looking sternly over his fingertips. "If he wants to stay, he can stay."  
Seemingly satisfied, Bill smiled and dropped the subject. 

 

 

 

 

oOo

 

 

 

 

Bill was right about John. The man was nervous once he awoke and even once Harry arrived, he inched about the flat like a scared animal, fleeing into his room as soon as Mycroft came by.  
In the end Bill stayed with John while Harry and Sherlock sat in the living room with the British government himself.

Harry, who was not at all the reckless sister Sherlock had imagined, glared sternly at the older Holmes from where she sat on the couch, her closed laptop resting on her knees.

"So." She stated. "To be blunt, John needs governmental protection. Up till now, my associates and I have been able to provide adequate protection for John." Looking around the room Harry continued. "However, recent events have proven that John is in need of further support to insure his safety."

"Now," Harry clasped her hands on top on her laptop. "Sherlock has already expressed the desire for John to remain here, at Baker Street, a sentiment which John reflects..."  
Harry fixed Mycroft with a steely look. "However, before I reveal more about John, I feel it necessary to mention that if my organization feels that you are not willing to aide in John protection, and/or are likely to compromise his safety in any way, we will take all the actions necessary to insure that he remains in safe hands."

Sherlock, who was thoroughly enjoying the put out look on Mycroft's face, added his piece from where he was lazily slouched in his chair. "The goons you picked up from our back door the other day were after John."

Mycroft, who was standing because he hadn't been allowed in John's chair and he'd refused to use the chair usually reserved for clients, sent Sherlock a disapproving glance before focusing once again on Harry.

"And why," Mycroft questioned stiffly, "were these...'goons' after John?"  
Pursing her lips Harry studied Mycroft before answering.   
"I'll remind you, Mr. Holmes, that if we feel you pose any sort of threat to John  _whatsoever_ , John will be not only be removed from the premise, but you will find it very difficult to find any record that the man existed at all."

Mycroft raised his eyebrow but said nothing.  
"That being said," Harry took a deep breath and nodded at the older Holmes. "Your help would be invaluable in keeping John safe." Sighing Harry leaned back onto the onto the couch, reluctant to divulge her next statement.  
"John has people after him because he is an escaped specimen from an underground research facility." 

Sherlock grinned at Mycroft's stony expression. While the older Holmes brother didn't show it, he was currently rewriting everything he'd thought he'd known about John.

Meanwhile Harry produced a USB drive from her purse on the floor. "This contains several files on John's... condition. I suggest you read them quickly. They are programmed to self-destruct within 24 hours of being opened."  
Mycroft accepted the drive with an intrigued look on his face and Sherlock itched to see the files, he doubted he would get a chance to learn much about the scientific side of John's wings anytime soon. He guessed that asking to experiment on the man's wings would be a bit more than 'not good'.

Harry went on to further explain about the research group that had held John before, and Sherlock zoned out through most of their discussion over different security options and possible safety measures against John's previous captures. 

Sherlock only tuned in when he heard a familiar name.  
"We think Moriarty might be why John was found again." Harry confessed. "One of the men from the team a few days ago had connections to him, so we think Moriarty might have tipped them of, if he's not part of the group himself."

Sherlock found it difficult to pay attention to the rest of the discussion.

 

 

 

 

oOo

 

 

 

 

Several days later Sherlock was sitting in the kitchen, staring unproductively at his microscope where he was supposedly discovering whether or not the milk spoiled, when John shuffled into the room.

After a stern lecture from Harry about wing health and feather care, John was wearing his brace less around the flat, and now sported a modified halter top in order to accommodate his extra limbs, which hung loosely down his back.

Along with John's wardrobe change, Harry and Bill were no longer staying at Baker Street, although Harry still called every day and John had several extra sessions with his therapist (who just so happened to be part of Harry's organization as well).  
Regardless of the fact that Sherlock was no longer having to accommodate two other people in his flat, things still felt...off.

Sherlock sighed, resting his chin on his hand, his eyes tracking John's wings as he moved around the kitchen. Harry had been very insistent that Sherlock was not to push John too fast and Sherlock wasn't sure what counted as 'too fast', so he and John had yet to talk much about the recent events.

Sherlock was startled out of his revere when a teacup was place in front of him by John who sat hesitantly across from him, clutching his own cup.  
"Thanks." Sherlock said awkwardly, wrapping his hands around the cup.  
"You're welcome." John replied, both hands bending towards himself in an almost 'give me' gesture.

 _The sign for 'you're welcome'._  Sherlock's brain supplied. He'd spent the last several days giving himself a crash-course in British Sign Language because, while John had started speaking again, he still found it easier to sign at the same time.  
Harry had informed Sherlock that John had gone through the same process when he was learning to speak the first time, and that he would drop the habit as he became more comfortable.

Sherlock fiddled with his spoon, should he say something?

"I'm sorry." John muttered, circling his fist in front of his chest.  
"What?" Sherlock dropped his spoon in surprise and it thumped dully against the table.  
"I never meant for this to happen." John murmured, his open palm brushing his closed fist. "You almost died because of me."

"I've almost died because of me too." Sherlock sputtered, unconsciously signing back. "Besides, it was probably my fault anyways...if I hadn't gone after Moriarty..." Sherlock trailed off at his flatmate's long-suffering look.

"It's not your fault." John insisted, he hands waving as if brushing away the ridiculous notion, his wings fluttering. "With these," John motioned at his wings, "I'm always in danger... something I shouldn't have brought you into." John finished, looking regretful.

"John..." Sherlock began, trying to figure out the right words to say. "I'm glad you did." He insisted firmly. "You're the most remarkable person I've ever met... and not just because of you wings."  
John sat stunned for a moment before bringing his open hand to his chin and pulling it away again. "Thank you." He murmured. "I... I'm glad I met you too Sherlock." John stated flustered, before grabbing his now cooled drink and fleeing the room.

Sherlock smiled as he sipped his tepid tea.  _Things might be on the mend already._ He mused as he tapped his fingers absentmindedly.

     _Tap-tap_    

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> This story is a long time coming and I'm glad I could give it to you.  
> side note: knowing ASL is not helpful when your character knows BSL...
> 
> Anyways, I'm planning to write more in this AU, maybe John's point of view of this story, Baskerville, his first meeting with Sherlock... *runs from the plot bunnies*


End file.
